


Under The Table

by nhasablog



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 19:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13747389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhasablog/pseuds/nhasablog
Summary: Elio liked this change of roles. It wasn’t necessarily about him enjoying the taste of power - which he did - but he liked seeing Oliver so flustered, although he made a good job of hiding it unless you were paying attention.Elio was paying attention.(Or, Elio is squeezing Oliver’s knee under the table during dinner, but he would be a fool to think Oliver won’t retaliate.)





	Under The Table

Elio liked this change of roles. It wasn’t necessarily about him enjoying the taste of power - which he did - but he liked seeing Oliver so flustered, although he made a good job of hiding it unless you were paying attention.

Elio was paying attention.

The night was humid, and Elio’s free hand kept alternating between gripping his fork and pushing his hair off of his sweaty forehead. They had guests as usual, but fortunately this couple only spoke to his parents and rarely addressed neither Elio nor Oliver. Oliver was looking at them with an interest Elio knew was fabricated, and not only because of the language barrier. Elio knew where his real attention was at.

Smiling into his napkin, Elio chanced a glance in Oliver’s direction. He refused to meet his gaze.

“I’m just saying!” one of the guests cried, seemingly waking Oliver from his trance and confirming to Elio that he hadn’t been paying attention to what was being said at all. Elio had to look away, lest he wanted his smile to split his face in half.

He moved his hand again, quickly so that the hand on top of his had to scramble to grab it again. Finding out that Oliver was ridiculously sensitive on his knees and thighs was Elio’s best discovery to date, and he’d only had to sit through a minute of boring conversation to get the idea to entertain himself in other ways.

Lucky that Oliver was sitting next to him. Lucky that no one paid them any attention. The first squeeze had caught Oliver by surprise, and he’d almost knocked his own glass over from how quickly he’d attempted to reach out and stop Elio’s mischief. He was more subtle in his methods of getting Elio’s fingers away from him after that, but Elio enjoyed the flustered hue to his usually confident palette.

Elio had kept his left hand on Oliver’s knee for a while now, only moving his fingers when the hand that Oliver kept on top of his seemed to relax. Elio adored the fact that his mere touch was affecting Oliver, even when he wasn’t actually doing anything. He knew it was partly due to the actual contact being ticklish - he could relate whenever someone touched his belly - but he also would like to think the fact that it was him, Elio, who was touching him had something to do with it too.

He gave Oliver’s kneecap a squeeze, biting his lower lip to keep from smirking at the way Oliver tried to jerk his leg away. He really had nowhere to go unless he wanted to make it obvious that something was going on.

Elio knew the revenge would be ten times as bad once they left the dinner table, but it was a fate he was willing to suffer through for twenty minutes of this.

“Elio, can you pass me the salt?” his dad asked, rousing him.

Elio let go of Oliver’s knee sadly to grab the salt mill that was resting beside Oliver’s plate. Little did his father know of the game he’d interrupted, but when Elio attempted to return his hand to its rightful place he found that things were different. He found that Oliver wasn’t letting him have his fun and was instead targeting  _him_.

Oh no.

Maybe Elio should’ve known better than to tickle someone who was barely half as ticklish as him. Maybe he should’ve known better than to do it when sensitive body parts of his own were bare and practically waiting for revenge. Maybe he should’ve known better, but all Elio could focus on was how Oliver’s hand was on his own knee, and the mere touch drove him more insane than was fair.

And it tickled like crazy.

Elio could now see how false the control of putting your hand on top of the offending one was, because it didn’t help matters in the slightest. He couldn’t stop Oliver from squeezing or moving, and it was merely a way of pretending to stop him. A way of not just sitting there and taking it, even though that was exactly what you were doing anyway. As long as you remained in your chair you were subjected to the unbearable sensation, and Elio didn’t know what to do with himself.

Oliver met his gaze, grinning more freely than Elio had dared, and Elio now understood the need to stare at one spot and pretend you were concentrating on other people’s words. Eating or drinking or even smiling was too hard, too vulnerable positions with that hand on your skin. Elio was doomed.

Torn between turning his head to stare at the others and staring straight ahead in order to have a bit of a view of Oliver, Elio kept turning his head back and forth, which really wasn’t helping. He’d already caught his mother tilting her head at him.

But that hand, that  _hand_.

It was no secret that Elio was a lot smaller than Oliver, and Oliver’s hands in particular were some of the biggest ones he’d ever seen, so they engulfed a big part of Elio’s knee. Trapped in the ticklish touch, and all he could do was sit there and keep a hand on Oliver’s, knowing it wouldn’t help.

Oliver was more cruel than him too, for while Elio had kept his own hand still Oliver was drumming his fingers lightly over the skin, sending ticklish jolts through him and nearly driving him insane.

And maybe he was enjoying it. Maybe the risk of getting caught was making it more thrilling. Maybe he never wanted Oliver to stop touching him.

But maybe he was just way too ticklish for his own good at the same time.

One particularly good squeeze sent his other hand into action, dropping the napkin he’d been squeezing to death to reach under the table and push Oliver’s hand away. Oliver was gracious enough to lean closer to make it look like they were having a regular conversation, when in reality all Elio kept saying was, “Stop.”

“Like you stopped earlier, you mean?” Oliver’s voice was hushed, but Elio could hear the clear amusement in it.

“This is different.”

“Because you’re ten times as bad as me?”

Oliver straightened, his pokerface on as Elio flushed. He could blame the lack of a breeze, but he knew Oliver knew what it really meant.

This would be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my [tumblr](http://nhasablog.tumblr.com).


End file.
